Time Will Tell
by Eliza Urchin
Summary: Three years after NFA Connor, Lorne and Xander Harris are summoned by the tribunal and sent on a mission to change the course of history. The three unlucky heroes find themselves back in Sunnydale with an increasing number of ridiculous problems.Timetrave
1. Chapter 1

_Time will tell  
I've heard it say  
time and time again  
and time is a great healer  
when only time remains  
time and tide will never wait  
as time has proven true  
the time has come  
the time has gone  
time for something new._

_ Charles M Moore._

* * *

American airlines flight 730 was late, and Xander wanted to give up and bribe the stewardess of the first flight out to Florida. Instead he had to be noble and continue to wait. Damn his nobility, it got him in so much trouble. He was sitting in the baggage claim under the sign for incoming flights, and had been for the past three hours, as the flight he waited for was delayed and delayed and delayed again. Every once in awhile he got up and checked the time on the TV above his head, but mostly he just slouched deeper and deeper into the plastic chair while watching the hall to the terminals with his one good eye. Just as he was about to nod off a loud speaker sounded over the waiting area exclaiming,

"Attention passengers, flight seven thirty from London is now arriving in gate ten. We apologize for the delay."

"Yeah, apologize my ass." Xander grumbled, hauling himself out of the badly form fitted chair and wincing as his spine cracked. With a grunt he picked up the cardboard sign that'd been scrunched up in the chair with him and shuffled over to the lines of poles marking the exit area. People started walking down the hall toward him, old, young, family members and business men. Xander pulled his checkered pullover tighter around himself and held up the wrinkled cardboard with the name CONNOR RIELLY scrawled in messy magic marker.

He wasn't sure if Connor would recognize him, or visa versa. They'd never spent much time together. By rights, Xander thought, I shouldn't even be here, Buffy should. But Buffy had left for the hospital before he got home, obviously forgetting the note he'd written her on the fridge, again. Very little got through to her these days. She'd gone out for another visit to Giles' doctor. Giles had taken one too many bumps to the head over the years and the damage had finally taken. Giles wasn't book man anymore; he wasn't much of anything but a vegetable since the Blue Wonder Woman came to Rome with the armies of Wolfram and Hart on her heels. Buffy changed after that too. The Watcher's council would have been proud of her if they were still around. She'd finally gone slayer solo.

After awhile he saw his target come down the ramp toting a black backpack. Connor walked past the crowd of other passengers, casually looking about. He looked a little healthier than the last time Xander had seen him, more filled out, more lucid. All good things in Xander's eyes. Or eye as was more accurate. He scratched a little at his eye patch while he raised the sign and waved it half heartedly in front of him to catch attention. Connor's eyes flicked over to him and he immediately slid through the crowd to Xander's side.

"Hey," he mumbled. Xander nodded and jerked his head in the direction of the baggage claim.

It took a long time for the right luggage to come up. They stood side by side, apart and not touching, watching the unclaimed bags roll round and round while other people chatted and hugged and kissed.

"Long flight?" Xander ventured, his voice a little lower and rougher than normal; probably from lack of sleep or the booze.

"Yeah," Connor responded. Another few minutes passed while more luggage came up the shoot, and Connor looked around over his shoulder at the crowd, then back at Xander who was fixated on the turning bags.

"Where's the rest of the gang?" he asked.

"This is the gang," Xander grumbled still staring ahead at the baggage. "Buffy had an appointment with Giles' doctor tonight, she couldn't come."

"Oh," Connor nodded then perked up when a familiar brown lump came up the baggage shoot. He and Xander pulled his bags from the ramp, a couple of thin, lumpy Salvation Army duffels, and each shouldered one before heading out.

Xander pulled his hat further down on his head and zipped his pull over up to the collar as the airport doors opened and they were blasted with freezing air. Connor cursed besides him and huddled into his over large coat, buttoning it up as his followed Xander over the crosswalk.

Tiny dots of snow drifted past their faces in the black sky lit up by the parking lights. Shivering together in equal misery they quickly chucked Connors bags into the back of Xander's sliver Honda, now blackened, dented and cracked with tape holding up one window. After the bags were stashed they hurried to tuck themselves into the car as well. Xander reached into the glove compartment and handed Connor the extra hat he now kept there, then rubbed his gloved hands together while they waited for the engine to heat up.

"So… how is everyone?" Connor asked as he rummaged through his back pack, pulling out scarf and gloves with numb fingers. Xander shrugged and rubbed his hands harder.

"Oh you know, fighting evil, turning evil, same ol same ol," Xander muttered. "There's still no word from Willow, and Buffy was thinking of mounting a rescue mission sometime soon. Only we wouldn't know where to send it."

Connor pulled on his gloves and finished tying the scarf. He stuffed the ends under his jacket and eyed the radio, but after a quick glance at Xander's worn face left it alone. Instead he looked out the window and admired the falling snow. It was beautiful. He remembered when he used to appreciate beautiful things just because they were beautiful, not because he saw them as having been spared. He rubbed the end of his cold nose with the back of his glove and hugged the straps of his pack tighter to his chest as he tried to hide his grimace.

"You must be glad to be out," Xander's voice came from beside him. Connor shrugged and spoke into the window,

"I guess. They gave me a clean bill of health, whatever that means," he muttered. In the drivers seat Xander glanced over at the pack that Connor had sitting in his lap. The top front pouch was open and he could see several orange pill cases sitting in easy reach. With a small frown he reached over and picked one out. Connor snapped away from the window and snatched it out of his hand, stuffing it back into the pouch and zipping the flap before Xander could read it.

"Clean bill huh?" he asked. Connor glared sideways at him, and stuffed the pack down by his feet, saying

"I think the car's warmed up."

Xander eyed the kid for a moment, almost ready to say something, venture an opinion or a friendly shoulder like he would've in the old days; but he didn't. He turned back to the front and shoved down the handbrake.

It wasn't any of his business, he wasn't a friend of the kid's, he wasn't sure the kid had friends anymore. Connor was Buffy's, one of her charity cases that'd she'd left by the wayside along with everything else in the past few years, leaving good old Xander to pick up the mess. Besides at twenty two Connor wasn't really a kid anymore, though he still looked it, and it wasn't Xander's place to treat him so. Let him do what he wanted.

Connor stared out the window as they drove down the freeway, watching the fuzzy blur of night traffic among the haze of snowflakes, and listening to the squeak, squeak of the windshield wipers. It was strange being back, or out, whatever you'd call it. He looked at Xander's reflection in the glass. Very strange indeed. He supposed it'd been silly to hope Buffy herself would come to get him, she'd ceased caring about anyone. Still he'd expected there to at least be a bit of the gang left, anyone but Xander. Not that he didn't like the man. Xander was nice enough, he had a good heart. Connor could still appreciate that no matter what ghastly memories swirled up in his brain, pooling over like gunk from an over used pipe.

It'd gotten better since he'd entered the institution, the memories and the hazy fugues they brought on. He'd self admitted himself a year and a half ago, when he found himself falling apart over simple tasks, and wandering off, waking up in strange dives under barstools or scrunched up in sewer pipes.

He was quickly diagnosed as Dissociative. Some days were better than others. Every once in a while he'd have a really bad day, brutal, where he didn't know where he was and everywhere he looked he saw red skies and monsters in the corners. The hallucinations took on the most bizarre and morbid imagery. But those days were rare now, and manageable.

The fugue states dissipated with time. The memories he'd been given by Vail slowly faded, like a worn out film reel. At first they had acted as a sort of filter against his life in Quortoth which he saw only as a dream. But he supposed with Vail dead and Angel's contract with W&H void, there just wasn't enough of the spell left to keep it that way. Now, he could barely remember life with his second family, only the first two years of college remained clear. With the nightmarish life before it growing ever more real, and then consuming him like a delusion he clung the memory of there faces and there love. He been shocked when Angel's face became one he clung to as well in his fugues.

Doctor Avery had made a lot of speeches about "The importance of a loved one" and "dealing with grief," and while he respected the man, _that_ was a whole other barrel of worms. One he wasn't ready to open. He was only glad the fugue states were gone… mostly. The drugs helped with that. He glanced down at his backpack a bit guiltily. He supposed to be getting off them now. His doctor had said it was time, that his mind could start taking care of itself now and filtering his memories on its own. But he wasn't ready to leave them yet. They were his last safety net now that he was out of the ward. Although he might be "better" now, in some small way he wished he could have stayed behind those safe white walls. He would have had to come out and face the world sooner or later; a world without Angel, without a home. Still he wished it had been a little later.

With a harsh rub of his freezing nose Connor pulled himself from his depressing thoughts. Outside they passed by iron fences and monuments he didn't recognize.

"Xander? Did you take a wrong turn?" he asked, looking out the window. Xander glanced over at him then back up front.

"No. I promised to meet a friend after I picked you up, shouldn't take long." Xander reached into his front pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He tried looking at it as he drove, but soon gave up and handed it to Connor.

"Here," he said. "Read that address for me will you?"

Connor took the paper and read off the address at the bottom of the page. Then out of curiosity he silently read the top, and his hand holding the paper grew cold followed quickly by the rest of his body. He reached down and unzipped his backpack's front pocket, pulling out a similar piece of paper with very similar writing on it. Holding the two next to each other he tried to keep his voice strong and steady as he asked,

"Xander. Do you know who Doyle is?"

Xander shook his head without looking away from the windshield, still squinting through the snow.

"Not a clue. But when you get a message claiming to be charging you with some higher calling it bears investigating. This friend of mine got a similar note and Buffy wasn't let into the invitation party which to me screams giant government conspiracy, but does anyone listen to me? No."

He risked a glance away from the road at his passenger. Connor was looking down at the note and another paper, and blinking periodically as if he thought the notes were playing tricks on him.

"Why?" Xander asked. Connor shrugged and made a 'I give up logic is hopeless' face.

"I got the same thing in the mail just after the board approved my release."

"Huh." Xander frowned and looked back at the road. "That's creepy."

"Then I found out someone named Doyle had petitioned for the early release. I should still be in there," Connor added softly.

"…well," Xander whispered after a moment. "That's even creepier."

"…yeah." Connor whispered back and leaned into his seat.

They drove through a couple of shopping mall lanes and finally after a few wrong turns and arguments over directions, pulled up in an empty plaza. Xander got out first, quickly followed by Connor who shouldered his backpack and read off the next set of directions.

"Fifty paces to the clock tower."

"Fifty paces? What is this, a kid's treasure hunt?" Xander griped and stomped off towards the small wooden clock tower dominating the shopping center. They walked past the Supercuts and the Radio Shack, staying under the eves of the store's and out of the snow.

They rounded the corner of the darkened Pizzaria and saw a bench sitting in front the clock tower with a thin figure in a long white coat and a brimmed hat hiding their face. An umbrella was unfurled over their head with a cap of snow on top as they hunched over a steaming cup of Starbucks coffee.

Xander strode straight forward and Connor followed behind a little more cautiously, eyeing the huddled figure with narrowed eyes. He wished he still had his knives. He stayed in the shadows of the Pizza place, feeling comfortable playing backup and staying out of sight and mind while Xander marched forward and slapped the stranger on the back. A stranger who stood up and after shaking Xander's hand and lifting the tip of his hat turned out not to be so strange after all. Connor's stomach did a funny flip in his gut.

Lorne smiled broadly at the man in front of him, his mottled green skin seeming to turn a brighter shade with his good mood.

"Xander! Muffin! I was starting to think I'd have to wait out this cold all by myself. Now tell me truthfully, mysteries in the dark, clandestine meetings and promises of magic to come, don't you just feel like Lucy coming out of the wardrobe?"

"Not really," Xander replied, reaching out at taking a sip of Lorne's coffee and smiling at the demon. "I'm feeling more of the Indiana Jones Temple of Doom kind of thing."

"Oh now sweetie is that any way to enter an adventure, which from what little I can gather from our very cryptic invites, it's sure to be?"

"You're unusually chipper tonight."

"Well I'd have to be to combat the cloud of gloom your carrying around. Looking lovely in plaid by the way, but besides that how many opportunities do you get to change the world?"

"Too many." Xander groaned and slumped down onto the bench where Lorne had been sitting.

"Change the world, muffin, not save it," Lorne replied and took a small liquor flask from his coat pocket. "We've all had our share of that grief," he whispered and uncorked the cap, taking a quick swig.

Xander eyed his green friend over the tip of the steaming coffee lid. He really liked Lorne. There weren't many people left he did like, most were gone somehow, dead or worse, and Xander seemed to have lost the knack for making friends after Sunnydale. Could be the eye, put people off, but he knew it wasn't. It was just him. Lorne was the only friend he'd made since.

They'd met in a bar cliché as it sounded. Xander had been drowning his heart in beer, then scotch. He hadn't drunk much before Sunnydale's collapse, hadn't even liked liquor that much, preferring a nice soda pop. Afterwards though, without any intention, there always seemed to be a bottle lying around. Some mornings when he looked in the mirror he swore he saw his father looking back at him, which usually had him skipping breakfast. The night he met Lorne he thought he'd had way too much to drink when he saw a green demon get up on stage and start singing The Doors "People are Strange". Afterwards he didn't know why but Lorne had joined him for a drink, and they'd gotten smashed together talking about a "better world"

"Well sure I'd go for that," he said. "There's a lot of things I'd like to change," he whispered. Then shrugged his large shoulders and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "But I think you're reading too much into those line spaces, only so much can fit in there. I mean what are the chances we were 'chosen'," he made little quote marks with his fingers over the coffee. "Versus we've been lead into a none to clever trap," Xander asked. Lorne waved his hand in a dismissive way.

"It's all in the staging me amigo and the attitude. Midnight approaching, strange characters brought together for a common purpose," he said holding his silver flask up to his shoulder and looking over Xander's head at the blackened windows of the Pizzeria.

"Some stranger than others," Lorne mumbled. "Why not ask your shy friend in the shadows to come join us Xander, we're all friends here" he suggested, throwing his voice so it would be heard across the sidewalk. Xander blinked and turned around on the bench, realizing Connor hadn't followed him out. He sighed and rolled his eye and head as one.

"Connor, quit it, you're skulking around like some B-rated horror movie killer." He called and gulped the coffee again. Lorne straightened a little as Connor came out from under the store shadows and into the streetlight, arms crossed and hands hidden under his armpits for warmth.

"Oh." Lorne whispered, tipping his hat. Connor stared back, keeping his distance. He barely remembered Lorne, except as a slightly blurry green face sliding in and out of his memories and a feeling of…shame? Sickness? maybe hurt? It was the first time he'd seen Lorne since that day at Wolfram and Hart when he got a new set of memories exploded into his head, or old ones depending on your point of view. That had been three years ago. He shivered a little in the cold. God had it really only been three years? He didn't know what he expected to happen. Lorne smiled gently as if sensing his confusion, not hard probably given the psychic thing, and nodded at him saying

"Hello young man," in a perfect imitation of his first words the day Connor entered the hotel.

"Hey," Connor nodded back. He couldn't tell if Lorne remembered him or not, and he didn't want to know. He was beginning to really wish he hadn't gone through with his release.

The three of them stood under the clock tower, Xander and Lorne passing the coffee back and forth, Xander even offered Connor a sip. The snow was still coming down lightly, each flake lit up in colored halos from the stop lights. Xander and Lorne caught each other up on what bleak news there was and Lorne tried to get them to sing Christmas carols, even though it was January, and they all slowly began to feel like frozen fools for waiting out in the snow like this.

When the clock struck midnight the waiting ended. The ground started to shake and a thunderous rumbling followed by a horrible scraping of stone on stone came from behind them. The three spun around, Connor nearly jumping out of his skin, and Xander off the bench.

Behind them, in front of the base of the clock tower, a huge three chaired stone throne rose out of the ground where moments before no hole had been. On each throne sat a red robed judge with half veils drawn across their faces. Lorne's mouth slowly fell down as the structure rose up, and when the thrones settled he looked like someone had stretched his mouth open with pliers.

"The Tribunal" Lorne whispered in something bordering reverence, or fear.

"These are your champions?" the middle judge spoke, looking out over the threesome's heads as if there was some invisible giant standing behind them. His voice was deep and calm like the undercurrent of an ocean and all three men felt small shivers shimmy up their spines. They looked askance at each other then back at the tribunal in confusion.

"Does anybody else feel like we were just passed over for air?" Xander whispered out of the side of his mouth. Lorne opened and closed his own mouth, as if ready to offer an explanation and then finding none there. Xander set his shoulders back and stepped forward, about to start demanding an explanation, or maybe considering their hosts positions beg for it politely,

"Uh hi," he said, and then cleared his throat when the judges continued to stare out at space as if Xander wasn't even there. "Excuse me," Xander tried again a bit louder. "I realize you're all probably very busy… men, but I got this letter," he fished the crumpled paper out of his pocket and opened it up. "We were supposed to meet here?" one of the judges on the side glanced down at him briefly and then returned his gaze to the air in a clearly dismissive gesture. Xander held up his hands and backed up, nodding to the unearthly trio above him. "Okay then, probably just a wrong number. So we'll be on our way."

"Very well," the middle priest spoke again to the air above their heads. Xander blinked

"Uh, okay," he said, then jerked his thumb at himself and the others. "Was that Okaying our exit by any chance?"

"The ruling is closed." the Judge continued speaking to the sky. "They will be sent on but should they fail their futures are forfeit. Do not bring this before us again."

"Whoa, whoa," Xander cut in. He turned and marched back right up to the stone dais holding the thrones and knocked it with his fists. "Who's sending what where? What is this? What do you mean the future is forfeit?"

"Xander," Lorne whispered stepping forward, Connor right behind. Three identical red veiled heads looked down at Xander at the same time and Xander took a step back from the base, stuffing chilly hands into his pants pockets.

"The trial has ended. Your party was victories and has won the right to a change of prospect. As his chosen champions you will go to do what you may in his stead."

"A change of what?" Connor spoke up, cocking his head slightly up at them.

"I don't remember agreeing to go anywhere," Xander added. "If this is a court shouldn't we be asked to sign some document in blood or something?"

"He's right," Lorne added, stepping up besides Xander and motioning to three of them under his umbrella. "We have the right to accept or decline any…"

"Your acceptance is not relevant in this case," the right hand judge interrupted. Then, as Lorne stuttered in his argument, the three judges reached into the folds of their robes and pulled out three bits of white paper, neatly folded, and held them out.

"Here is your charge. Bear it well" they said, three voices rumbling together like an execution's drum roll. As Xander opened his mouth, ready to tell them what he thought of that, the three papers flashed.

A burst of white light filled their vision, like a strobe going off in front of their noses. Each of them reeled, bits of afterimages overlaying each other on their eyes until everything blurred into one big sea of white. Bits and pieces of sounds and smells filled up their senses, and broken Irish brogue none of them recognized skittered about in broken sentences. _To change it for the better… they shouldn't have died like this… not like this… their missions… _

Xander shook his head and reached out blindly for Lorne's shoulder which he knew had to be somewhere on his right. His head started to ache with children's laughter and the sound of someone saying a funeral speech. Lorne wobbled under the sudden dizziness and flinched when he felt the cold kiss of snow as the umbrella swayed in his hand. Connor backed up into Xander's side and shook his head, blinking continuously as if that would shake away the white sheet of light blinding his eyes.

Just when the flash had faded enough for the scene around them to come back into focus everything changed again.

Connor's eyes widened as the scene around them slowly came back into focus. The first thing he saw was a brilliant red scarf dropping from the wrapped fingers of the middle priest, and everything around him slowed down as he tracked the cloth floating to the ground.

On his right Lorne looked up, his head moving as slow as molasses. The clock face above them, in contrast with the slow-motion affect of the world, was spinning around like a wind up toy that'd been let loose and even stranger, it was spinning backwards. Lorne's stomach made a funny lurch and jumped up into his throat. He quickly clamped his mouth and eyes shut against the nausea surging up inside.

Xander kept his grip tight on both Lorne and Connor, and stared fixedly down at the ground, which began to jiggle like the image of a badly held home video camera until it was moving so fast it hurt to watch and he too closed his eyes. The wind picked up and swirled around them in a howling cone, sending the snow reeling. There was a moment of blackness and a feeling of terrible velocity, then nothing.

It all stopped as suddenly as it'd begun, like a switch had been flipped off, and everything was still.

The first thing they noticed, and they all noticed it at the same time, was the heat. It beat down on their backs and Lorne shivered at the sudden change in temperature. Cautious and not half expecting to find himself facing a Pylean hillside again, he cracked an eye open. He blinked in shock as his red gaze flowed over the scenery.

He stood on a grassy hilltop looking over the expanse of a sleepy looking little town. Way off he could see the blue haze of an ocean. Down below there were lines of traffic, houses with windows open for the breeze, and just off to the right on the edge of the hill was a little brown sign read "Sunnydale City Park."

He felt Xander and Connor slowly walk up behind him.

"Oh Hell," Xander's hoarse voice choked, and Connor whispered,

"I knew I should've stayed in that ward."

* * *

TBC 


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **_This chapter was written by FangedCalliope, as this was originally a round robin._

_To address confusion about the timeline thus far… this story begins three years after the Angel's season finale. A lot can happen in three years and the intervening time between that fight and the beginning of this story is meant to be vague. I have a general idea of what happened, and who met up when that will continue to be referenced by characters as the story goes on but it will not spelled out. Part of the idea of this story for me is exploring how much people change over time. The story is as much an exploration of a "possible" future as it is of the past. I want this story to not only deal with the younger "past" characters getting warnings of the future, but of future characters being reminded of things in their past they've forgotten and should have remembered._

* * *

Chapter Two

"Oh hell" Xander muttered again. "Oh Shit." He staggered, his head spinning, and abruptly lost the half a bagel and stale cup of coffee he'd consumed that day.

"Whoa there peach pit, you're looking a little green." Lorne joked, even as he placed his hand under the carpenter's elbow to steady him. Red eyes flicking nervously around the brightly lit grassy area the demon led Xander toward a clump of trees, a silent Connor following behind. Xander glanced drunkenly around at the pines, before sinking onto a low picnic bench. "How? This can't be happening." Xander gave a shuddering sigh, burying his face in his hands.

"Hey their friend," Lorne placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know your very upset right now, but you're the one who's gonna have the best idea of what's going on."

He flicked a sympathetic glance at Conner who was looking at the shaking man with some concern as he shrugged off his heavy coat. "I'm sure you've already thought of this, but isn't this place a crater?"

Xander let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "We shouldn't be here, this shouldn't be here."

"So… we're in Sunnydale." Conner pressed.

"Yep," Xander said thickly, "home sweet home." He glared up at Lorne who was making himself inconspicuous behind a pine tree. "You seem pretty unfazed."

"Well as long as it's not my home sweet home…" The demon trailed off.

"Could this just be an alternate dimension?" Conner questioned, looking around skeptically at the green grass and occasional butterfly. If it was, it certainly beat Quortoth any day.

"No." Lorne shook his head. "I've done some inter-dimensional travel and this place doesn't have the vibrations of another world. As far as I can tell we're still in the good old earth dimension we all call home and," he shuddered slightly, "there's something giving off some seriously bad mojo."

"The Hellmouth." Xander whispered. "My god, we're really here. But why?"

"I think the question would be when."

The carpenter shook his head and let his eyes travel aimlessly along the horizon. "Well this is just—"

He stopped as his eyes landed on a sign in the distance, peeking at him through a gap in the trees. Restfeild Cemetery. Xander's eyes widened and without a word he leapt to his feet sprinting down the hill at a speed neither of his companions would have expected. The young man and the demon exchanged a look. Lorne sighed,

"Well I can't catch him."

Wordlessly Conner handed the demon his coat, then took off at an easy run, swiftly carrying him into the distance, and through the wrought iron gates after their companion.

Xander ran frantically through the cemetery, dodging tombstones and mausoleums, heavy boots thudding on the soft green grass. Abruptly he skidded to a halt, falling to his knees at Joyce's grave. Or where Joyce's grave should have been. Gasping for air he dug his fingers into the sun warmed section of empty sward, feeling drops of sweat slowly trickle down his neck. Joyce wasn't dead, which meant Tara wasn't dead. He turned to see Conner approaching him cautiously his face impassive as he took in the panting man before him.

"It's uh, before two thousand," he managed to gasp out. Then closed his eyes. If it was before 2000 Buffy hadn't died. He and Anya were still together, Anya. Leaping to his feet he prepared to sprint off again, heedless of Conner's exasperated shout, when he skidded to a halt only a few feet away, staring at a tall granite stone.

_Robert Flutie._

The dirt was fresh, showing bits of brown through the strips of sod that had been newly placed on it. Principal Flutie. He manfully fought down another bout of hysterical laughter. Of course he'd landed at one of the more embarrassing incidences of his life. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him. It must be just days after his stint as a Hyena. It was nineteen ninety six, he was kid. Willow had never tried to float a pencil, he had two eyes, Buffy had never died at all yet, Dawn didn't exist, and Anya. He swallowed hard, Anya was off somewhere wreaking vengeance and had never heard of him.

"It's uh, it's, 1996. My sophmore year of highschool. We're, we're all sixteen."

"Nineteen ninety six?" Conner questioned, "you're sure." Xander swallowed raking his fingers through his hair as he straightened.

"There's only one way to be sure."

The three men stood in the bushes, peering across the street at the pleasant looking beige building. It's wide front lawn covered with brightly colored, chattering kids. Xander took deep breaths, his sense of unreality deepening as he took in the four columns on either side of the door, and the large innocently winking windows.

"So," Connor asked lowly staring at the door. "We're here at the ominous Sunnydale High."

"Yep." Xander murmured back. "Those doors are the portal to a realm of unending misery and torment, and I don't just mean the Hellmouth in the basement."

There was slight groan, and the two of them glanced at Lorne. The demon was looking decidedly gray around the gills.

"You okay?" Xander asked.

"This place feels horrible." The demon whispered back in a shaky voice.

"How so? You didn't go to high school here."

Lorne grimaced. "In human terms? Probably the way your organs would feel if they could hear fingernails on a chalkboard."

Conner winced in sympathy.

"Any idea where to go from here?" Conner asked. He and Lorne both looked expectantly at Xander who shrugged, still dazed.

"Well it's not like I can really go to Willow's, or home." His gut clenched at the thought. His young self was still stuck in that miserable house.

"A hotel?" Lorne ventured.

"You have any money?" The carpenter asked. The green demon slumped.

"No, I was hoping you did."

"Conner?"

The young man looked in his wallet.

"I've got about forty bucks."

Xander flipped hastily through his.

"The same." he said dejectedly. Conner's eyebrows met in annoyance

"And we can't use our bank accounts because they don't exist here, those mystical higher ups sure know how to set up a mess."

Suddenly Xander grinned.

"The Crawford street place. Angel won't be living there yet, it'll be totally empty."

"Angel's here?" Conner's voice was conspicuously without inflection. His companions shifted uncomfortably.

"Uh yeah." Xander replied. Inwardly kicking himself. _Great way to bring up the fact that the kids dead Dad is undead here Harris. _"He'll be living in that apartment by the Bronze now."

Conner remained expressionless.

"Oh."

Xander took a deep breath,

"And uh your—"

"Excuse me!" Snapped a voice behind him "Is there a reason you're loitering on school grounds?"

Xander nearly jumped ten feet in the air. Even after eight years that harsh nasal voice still kicked his flight reflexes into overdrive. He turned to look down at the furious balding little man before him.

"Snyder."

He was glared at through suspiciously narrowed eyes.

"That's Principle Snyder to you. What's this? A drug deal?"

"No sir, I was just giving my younger brother here his lunch money, he forgot it." Connor's eyes widened in panic, and he shook his head at Xander behind Snyder's back. Snyder looked at him skeptically.

"Uh huh. Weren't there three of you?"

Xander looked around, Lorne had somehow made himself scarce, thank god.

"No, just me and my...brother."

"Well, I think some of us have jobs." He looked dubiously at Xander. "Doubtful." He turned his beady eyes to Conner. "And some of us should definitely be in class."

"Well, actually—" Conner began.

"Get to class young man, and apologize to whichever teacher is unfortunate enough to have you. I'll be seeing you in my office later."

"But–"

"Should I call the truancy officer? March!"

Xander looked into Conner's horrified face with a helpless expression, as Snyder reached up and snagged his earlobe. Then watched as Connor was dragged head down into the mouth of hell.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Chapter Three

Connor felt like his ear was about to be twisted off, and that would be a bitch. He didn't know if he could re-grow body parts and wasn't in a hurry to find out. He'd tried to stay away from the fighting ever since that fateful night Angel had sent him running from Wolfram and Hart after the apocalyptic coffee meeting. It hadn't worked of course, staying out of it, but he tried. A stupid homage perhaps to a stupid last wish, but it was the only thing he could do for Angel now.

Connor shook his head to clear his thoughts and tore his ear away from the tiny bald man marching him down the hallway. What was his name? Snide something, Xander called him. He rubbed the red mark forming on his ear where the man's nails had reluctantly let him go and snuck a look at the starched, rigid back. He was about to start telling him that there'd been a mistake and his "brother" had been having a bad joke. He was twenty two after all. He couldn't be in high school. Then the miniature troll barked up at him.

"What's your period? I'm having a word with your teacher. You're going to be watched. Any paper bags in your hands and you'll be in detention before you can say 'money'" he snapped with a self satisfied smirk. Connor raised one high arched brow and opened his mouth, but the little monster just kept going.

"You're probably in one of Mrs. Henderson's aren't you. Obviously remedial, tenth grade failures walking my halls…" he trailed off, pursing his lips over a pair of horrible front teeth. Connor's mouth dropped open and he stumbled over his untied shoelace, undone after their tornado through time. Tenth grade?! This prune of a man thought he was _sixteen!_ Jesus, fucking… he nearly continued out loud.

"Don't stand there with your mouth open. If you're that slow I'm sure you could stand to drop a few grades, now what's your period?"

A few grades? Oh no, he was _not_ going any younger than he was.

"Uh…math?" he said, his voice petering out into a croak and dying on that word. He was going to murder Xander for this.

The principle looked satisfied, or as satisfied as such a man could while still looking like a soured pickle. Connor grimaced as the man turned around, threw open a classroom door and hauled him inside by the sleeve of his shirt.

The classroom was a bland and crowded. Your standard high school math course, with equations drawn up front on squeaky white board, posters in the back sporting various "smoke and die" logo's, and students slumped over their desks falling asleep or in the rare studious case taking notes. Everyone stopped and hushed, one kid pausing mid spit ball, as Connor suddenly found himself under the intense scrutiny of thirty teenage eyes. He gulped.

The principle came back from speaking with the teacher and swept a glare over the shifting students. Then he turned on Connor and pointed a wrinkled finger in his face, so close he nearly stuck it up Connor's nose. Connor reared his head back from the madly pointing digit in disgust.

"You." The tiny man sneered. "Stay put or you'll find yourself scrubbing out lockers for a week. And I'll be having the staff search your locker. I expect I'll find a bong."

Connor was at a loss to follow the logic under the principles rant and tried to speak.

"But I'm not doing drugs…"

"Quiet. Oh I know your type. One step out of line, and I'll make your life _miserable_. With glee."

Connor nodded slowly, trying to keep his sneer to a minimum.

"Yes, Mr. Snide," he said. A burst a muffled giggles broke out behind him from the students, and Connor snuck a glance over his shoulder, confused, before focusing back on Mr. Snide; who was looking more pickled then ever and glared up at Connor with beady eyes.

"I'll see you after school." He said, then turned and swept out of the classroom slamming the door behind him with a crash that made Connor's already tense muscles jump.

Silence descended over the classroom. Connor turned around and looked back at the lines of blank faces staring at him. He wondered if he'd somehow wandered into Dante's fifth circle of hell. The teacher came forward, snapping her book shut and took out a clipboard and pen.

"Name?" she demanded. Connor turned his head and blinked, finding himself under yet another pair of probing eyes. What was with this place? He hadn't been stared at so much since… well two years ago, in college…

"Connor Reilly," he whispered. "Look there's been a mistake," he insisted, leaning towards the teacher in confidence.

"I'm sure there's has Mr. Reilly, you're not on my attendance sheet. Trying to get out of upper division work are we?" the teacher said, loudly enough that it carried across the whole room and not looking up from her clip board. Connor shook his head, pulling back, baffled.

"What? No! I'm not in this class."

"I can see that, whose class are you in."

"No one's. I'm not enrolled." He tried to explain.

"Well it's too late now. Snyder's caught you. You can sit in on this class until your parents finish transferring your records. Next time you'll know better then to go snooping around early won't you. Take a seat in the back." The teacher finished and tucked away her clip board after adding his name and stalked back to the front of the class muttering "no one tells me these things."

"But, I'm not…" Connor tried once more, following her, before she slapped a hand on her desk with a crack and demanded.

"Sit _down_. Mr. Reilly."

Connor closed his open mouth, and turned around, walking with numb legs to the back of the room.

What was wrong with these people, he wondered, incredulous, as he pulled a desk out of the corner. The legs scraped horribly against the floor, drawing everyone's attention to his exact spot, as if they hadn't already been watching his every move. Only once he'd flopped down in the seat and settled his backpack on the floor, did the teacher start her lecture again and the class turned its attention away from him. He dropped his head in his hands, digging his fingers painfully into his scalp, and swore softly.

Xander was a dead man.

Xander was also currently sitting side by side with Lorne on a park bench across the street. Each of them looked up at the Highschool's ominous doors with hangdog expressions, as if they'd just seen a comrade gunned down. Xander was holding Connors jacket in his lap like some macabre souvenir.

"Don't you think we should rescue him?" Lorne asked after minute, staring at the Latin inscribed over the front arch. "Formatia trans sicere educatorum" His mouth felt terribly dry and was aching for a sea breeze, and his horns were itching under the hat pulled over his face.

Xander glanced up at the sky, dazed. It was brilliant blue and not a cloud in sight. It didn't seem right. There should be storm clouds massing the horizon, or fog, or cold winds. But there was never a rainy day here in Sunnydale. He'd forgotten how much he hated that. There should be something to warn you about the evil that stewed only a few meters beneath your feet. Something to hint at the dead bodies the town's foundations were built on, a fact he new from working construction.

He had always the one who had to clear their sites of bones, or hands, or other body parts, human and demon before the other workers came by in the morning. He didn't miss it. He wanted to go back to his carpentry shop in England. Drink out of the milk carton in Buffy's fridge, read to Giles at his bedside. Not worry about running into a sixteen year old version of himself who'd just gotten through devouring live pigs and trying to molest his friends.

Shit. What if Connor heard about that inside there… his hands clenched tighter on the jacket in his grip.

"Nah. Leave him. He comes from a demon dimension. He can survive a day in the school from hell." He looked over at Lorne who was trying to draw his green hands further into his pale blue jacket sleeves.

"I come from a demon dimension; and I'd sing 'All The Man That I Need' in stretch nylon with Whitney Houston, before getting caught in there." Lorne said, shuddering. Xander shook his head.

"We can't charge in Blazing Saddles mode. It's a school. A school with Snyder. There's nothing we can do till it gets out. Besides," Xander finished, standing up and gathering their pile of wet coats. "I really need a drink." He handed Lorne his white trench coat and the Demon wrapped it carefully over his green hands.

"Amen to that, honey bee."

"Come on," Xander nodded his head with a croak. "I know a place where you'll blend right in."

"Can they shake a good Gin Martini without bruising it?" Lorne asked, rubbing his temple with one coat covered hand. A headache was starting to pound in his brain, the kind he got after reading a particularly nasty future, and his stomachs were doing swan dives over the evil vibes waving off the town.

"No," Xander answered, steadying his friend with hand on his shoulder. "But they have beer taps, and serve everything else from blood to Yack piss."

"Ooh goody," Lorne moaned. "I new I'd come to a place with _class_."

The odd pair left the park behind them and hiked down the street. As they passed the corner of the barber shop, a long shadow detached itself from the wall and slid in behind them. The silhouette was tall, with short spiky hair and a long frock coat. It placed both hands in its coat pockets and followed them along the sidewalk as they hiked uphill. Staying under the eves and alley ways, it stalked their footsteps all the way through town. Always out of the sun, always watching.

The end of period bell rang and the students poured out of class. Connor was amazed that so many bodies could fit through such a small door at once. He remained sitting, stunned, until he noticed the teacher glaring at him across the empty room. Then he stood, shouldered his backpack and slunk into the hall.

The corridor was a sea of clashing colors and chattering kids. Connor flattened himself against the wall, staying off to the side of the main traffic. A few kids looked at him strangely but most ignored him, and he liked that.

He'd hoped he could slip out of the school without being noticed, but he couldn't find the exit. He wandered from hall to hall looking for a way out but couldn't find it. The school was like a maze with dead ends and trick doors. He opened one that he swore would have brought him outside and ended up having a broom fall on his face. He gave up trying to navigate and just wandered, thinking about how he was going to get out of here. Sooner or later someone had to notice he wasn't in the computer system.

He found himself standing, rather aimlessly across the hall from a huge tack board. It was covered in black paper with epitaphs written underneath on hallmark cards. A large photo of a chubby and cheerful looking man holding a pig was tacked to its center. Connor frowned and crept closer, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. The name underneath read Robert Flutie, 1949 to 1996. The same name as the one on the grave Xander had been gagging over. So it really was 1996. They were back in time, eleven years in the past. Clinton was president, and he hadn't been born yet…

He took a shuddering sigh and breathed in deep to calm down. His nose sifted through the heavy mixed up scents of glue and pizza and the hundred different teenage body odors that hung in the halls. Some of the students, he swept a glance at a pair of Goths in chains, _really_ needed to bathe.

It was nothing like Cleo Center. Everything in the institution had been clean, and scoured, you never got smells like this. Then he caught a new scent. A cloyingly familiar one that he never thought he would smell again; a perfume of Sandalwood, Cinnamon and French vanilla woven over a subtle women's musk.

He turned to his left, looking away from the memorial and there, as if brought back from the dead before his very eyes was the one and only Cordelia Chase, striding towards him on high black heels. She wore skin tight pants and a leopard skin top, her hair pulled back high in a pony tale that swung behind her as she sauntered down the hall arresting everyone's gaze as she passed. Just as she'd always done.

She was stunning, and staring at her swaying form Connor felt a sudden nausea rise in his throat. The world around him seemed to fade. Her smell filled his nostrils, until the sweetness overwhelmed him and made him want to gag. He could feel her fingers running down his body, her tongue sliding, sinuous into his ear, whispering over him, _we're special Connor…_ her low voice murmuring as she pulled him down over her, guiding his hands, slipping her own into places he didn't know could be touched. Pants puddled on the floor, lips, fingers, pulling him down into her, ignoring his whispers, his fear, his naivety, assuring him this was fine. _I may ask you to do some things._ Blood dripping down a butcher ax. Cold rumpled sheets stinking of semen. His hand pressed against a swollen belly. Press here, touch that, now thrust. How she'd smiled at him in the musk of their bed, while they rocked together around his broken rib, and he smiled with tear tracks down his face, Cordelia licking them away. _…never had anything that's real…_

"Hell_oo_!" a high strident voice cut across his brain. He was wrenched back, and the world around him snapped into place like a slide being slammed into a projector. An irate, sixteen year old Cordelia stood before him snapping her fingers in front of his face.

"Yeah, spaz case," She continued, finally having gotten his attention. "Move your sorry chess club self some where that is else, you're in my line of sight." She stated, and settled her weight on one hip waiting for the geek to pull himself out of whatever gross loser fantasy he'd been indulging. One of the stoner crowd definitely. The kid blinked at her and she raised an eyebrow, making sure he understood that he was wasting valuable Chase time. Time she could be spending watching a certain Senior, Jason Parson of the football team unload his locker. If of course _her view wasn't blocked._ She was about to really lay into the dweeb when he suddenly bent his head and shook as if he was sick and going to lose his lunch. Eeuww, gross, she thought and stepped back to protect her new shoes.

"Hey don't even think…" she started to threaten, when suddenly the nerd grabbed his backpack and shoved past her, pushing her into a locker as he streaked down the hall, not giving her a second look. She stared after him for second, then shrugged muttering, "freak," and turned her full attention to Jason Watching.

Connor bent low over the bathroom sink as his belly convulsed, vomiting coffee into a black pile on the bottom. His hands gripped the cold porcelain until they were white, and his body convulsed again and again, the last of his stomach's meager contents circling the drain. His breath came in sobbing gasps and he struggled for air past the relentless seizing of his throat and gut.

He mentally screamed at himself to stop and get a hold of himself. Of course she would be here. Angel was here, and who knew how many others. None of them any longer buried pots of ash, but walking, talking…feeling …

The retching died down slowly and he slumped against the sink, breathing hard. He thanked god that he'd gotten to the sink in time, rushing through the first door with a pale blue circle on it, and hadn't thrown up on the floor in the middle of the hallway surrounded by curious teens. He rested his head against the faucet, reveling in the cold metal against his hot and reddened face.

Damn them. Damn them all for putting him through this, him and the other torn up survivors. Damn them for dying, and Damn them for living the way they did; and Cordy, damn. Damn himself for still feeling for her after everything she made him do, everything she'd done to him.

He took one last quaking breath and leaned back from the sink. Suddenly a hand insinuated itself into his vision, holding a Kleenex. He blinked at it, and then looked up. A girl stood by his elbow at the sink wearing a baffled, sympathetic expression. He'd never seen her before. She was young with blonde hair tied in messy pigtails over a purple tie-died shirt. Cautiously he stood and took the Kleenex, wiping it across his mouth.

She looked… wait. _She._ Connor stopped, feeling the beginnings of embarrassment creep up his spine, and swept a searching gaze over the bathroom, looking for the customary beday. No beday, but there was a tampon dispenser by the sink he'd just finished emptying his guts into. He groaned. Perfect. The Girls bathroom. Of course he had rushed into the _girl's_ bathroom.

"Are you okay?" the girl asked, worry creasing her eyebrows.

"Brilliant." He replied curtly, and threw the balled up Kleenex across the room, making a perfect basket into the trash can.

"Hey, that's pretty good. I can never hit those things," She said, offering a smile. Connor said nothing. The sounds of pounding feet ran by outside followed by laughter and the girl shifted her feet back and forth for a nervous minute, waiting for him to say something else, but he didn't. He sat down wordlessly on the end of the sink and dropped his shoulders in a slouch, staring at the floor.

"Umm, you dropped these," she spoke up again, and held out his back pack and a crumpled piece of paper. Connor looked up from his private communion with the floor, stared at her out-held hands, and then slowly took his things back.

He let his bag slip down to the floor by his feet and bowed his head over the slip of paper in hand. It was actually two pieces, the larger paper was the strip of lined notepad with the clock tower meeting time scrawled on it. Folded inside that was another, smaller paper bent into fourths and completely blank; a simple white square. But he swore he hadn't had it earlier that evening, morning, day... whatever.

He glanced over to see the girl take a seat on the sink to his right. He sighed, feeling a tinge of guilt for snapping at her. She looked like a nice kid, was probably only trying to help.

"Thanks," he mumbled dejectedly and waved the paper in a small effort at decency on her behalf. "Uh..."

"Amy." she supplied, "Madison."

"Yeah." He said again, then turned his head and looked at her. "Thanks."

"Its okay," she shrugged. "I uh, I know the feeling."

Connor scoffed softly, rolling his eyes and suppressed the urge to say 'yeah sure you do'. Instead he folded the paper again and shoved it safely into his pants pocket.

"Rough day, huh?" Amy asked, rocking forward slightly on the sink. Connor snorted and looked up at the ceiling for guidance, wondering how for politeness' sake to describe his day without saying black magic, higher power, or space time continuum. Maybe one out of three would work.

"Have you ever seen Apocalypse Now?" He asked. Amy nodded.

"That sums up today," he said.

"…Sorry," Amy, frowned in sympathy.

"Yeah," Connor stood and shrugged on his backpack. "Anyway, thanks again for the… Kleenex." he mumbled, and then headed for the door. Amy's eyes widened, then she leaped off the sink and dashed in front of him, placing herself between him and the door.

"Woah, woah. You can't just walk out there from in here." She exclaimed, holding out her hands out to stop him.

"Why?" Connor asked, frowning.

"This is _high_ school." Amy insisted, putting extra stress on the word, expecting him to know what she was talking about.

"Oh. Oh right," Connor nodded still frowning. The two of them stood there for a moment, Connor scratching the back of his neck and looking at the door like it had betrayed him and he didn't understand why. Amy backed up into the door, saying,

"I'll check the coast for you, and then you can slip out." She pushed the door open a crack with her shoulder and peeked out. Most students were crowded around their own lockers, talking, exchanging books, or in the case of Harmony looking in mirrors. She waited until most everyone was looking away and quickly motioned behind her. "Okay it's clear." She whispered. Connor slipped out the door Amy held open and she followed behind. He walked away quickly, like a spider scurrying along a wall.

"See you tomorrow." Amy called after his back, and he turned around, giving her a quick nod.

"Yeah… Tomorrow." He said, and then with a hop skip and a jump he was gone. Amy blinked and shook her head, looking at the place he'd just been standing.

"Hey Amy." A cheery voice piped up behind her, causing Amy to jump and shriek in surprise. "Geeze," the voice behind her teased, "Didn't know I was that scary."

"Oh, hi Buffy." Amy said, turning around to face her friend.

"Who was your friend?" Buffy asked, cocking her head to the side and looking down the hallway.

"Oh," Amy gasped, turning around and following her gaze, though he was long gone by now. "He's… you know I, I didn't catch his name." she looked back at Buffy. "A new guy I guess. I think he might have Hepatitis or something."

"Huh." Buffy said and faced Amy, "So you want to join for lunch?"

"Yeah sure." Amy smiled and the two turned, walking off to the cafeteria shoulder to shoulder.

"So," Buffy's fading voice asked. "Was he cute?"


	4. Chapter 4

AN: My appologies for the late chapter. My internet connection died. Also, I realise this is the boring exposition chapter and I will try and make the next one more fun. promise.

* * *

Chapter Four

Willies bar was on the down and out side of town along the band of strip clubs and quarter laundry mats. There wasn't a lot of the down and out side. Sunny D being what it was there wasn't a lot of anything except demons and spawn. Ah Southern California, how I miss you, Xander thought darkly as he chugged back the last of his drink. Years of associating with Spike had, much to Xander's chagrin, left its mark and he found he could drain a pint in thirty seconds flat. In the last two years drinking with Lorne he'd expanded that to just about every drink known to man and demon, and was now putting back beers with admirable stamina.

The shock of being blown back in time was slowly wearing off. He didn't feel the need choke anymore. The more he drank the easier the idea became and the fuzzier his own memories of Sunnydale were. Which was great as far as Xander was concerned. He almost felt up to making a joke about Deloreans.

Lorne was at the bar on his right. His hat and coat were tossed on a stool, exposing him in all his green glory while he slumped over a tall Gin and Tonic. Being unfortunately well versed in alternate dimensions and having no memory of Sunnydale himself, he took it a bit more in stride. He skipped shock and went straight to depression.

"And here I thought I'd seen the end of this." Xander muttered under the loud noise in the bar. Willie's was unusually full for midday and someone had turned the juke-box up loud to cover the seedy conversations taking place around the back corners; which was of course where they were sitting on the bar.

"Normally I'd say it all comes round again, but this is a decidedly unnatural turn around." Lorne replied taking an unhealthy gulp of his liquor and shaking his head.

"I can't believe this is happening. I mean, time travel. Real time travel, as in we're back in time, and Sunnydale of all places. I know we deal with weird everyday but… time travel! Where's Denzel Washington when you need him?"

"Somewhere out making 'The Preacher's Wife', if you've got the date right."

"What do you want to bet this all a big mistake?" Xander joked hopefully.

"No deal peach pit." Lorne said "Never bet against the higher powers. You always come out on the wrong end."

"Without an eye"

"Or a business"

"Lost in Vegas." They said together and then laughed over the bar.

"Good times." Xander sighed and leaned back fingering his bottle. "Remember when we had those?"

"Seems a life time ago," Lorne mumbled gazing morosely into the bottom of his own glass.

"Now the voodoo who-doo spit us out again," Xander said.

"For another round of fun," Lorne finished. Xander gave him a funny eye over the neck of his bottle.

"You look as depressed as me to be here. I thought you were the one who was all gun-ho about changing the world."

"Oh I was, I was… before the clock tower." Lorne shook his head and took another long sip from his glass. He had always wanted to change the world for the better. He loved helping people and guiding them when they fell off their path and lost their way. He had thought that, maybe, he was being given a chance to help again; another chance at Caritas. He hadn't thought he'd be sent back to the past with people who were already well set on their roads to hell.

"But this kind of work, with heroes, it isn't me anymore," Lorne mumbled. "I left it… I left _them_ three years ago, and I had reasons Xander. I don't want to get caught up with them again. It's not my kind of work anymore. People get swept up in the wake of heroes like that, I know I did. Fell in love with them all, their passion for justice, and doing the right thing. Why get involved all over again. We know how it ends, what they become, what they make us…do"

Lorne looked into his glass and saw Lindsey dying on the floor. Saw the cold flint in Angel's eyes when he asked him for that last favor, and Fred looking so pale and fragile in a hospital bed. Then the bottom of the glass seemed to give way and all he could see was the endless line of drinks he'd had ever since.

"Don't you have any hope for them?" Xander asked. "We've got an opportunity here we'd never have otherwise."

Xander looked around the bar to see of anyone was listening and shifted closer on his stool.

"Let's just pretend for minute this is really happening." Xander began, and pointed his finger at Lorne "which I'm not sure we are. I still say I this is some horrible dream that came from eating those day old fajitas. But… the man in red said this was 'a Chance to change your prospects'. That whole court thing's a little fuzzy for me, but if we go by every time travel movie I've ever seen then that means changing the future. Do you know how much we could prevent from here? It all started right here, right… now. It makes sense. Sort of…" Xander finished with a mumble, mentally praising the beer which spurred his brain from shock at being in an uncratered Sunnydale, to thinking of his life as a movie.

"Xander, Muffin," Lorne began and stopped, holding out a hand. Lorne looked at Xander and saw a spark in his eye he'd never seen before. It was more than being drunk. There was a fever about him, a frenzied look of… hope. Lorne had never seen hope in Xander, it had dried up before they ever met. Lorne's old smile strained as he tried to think of a way to explain the impossibility of Xander's proposal without crushing his friend.

"It's not that easy. There are things to take into account here. I'm not sure we can just run around changing everybody's futures willy nilly," Lorne said.

"Why not?"

"It's called fate hon-bun. A predestination paradox. Remember I used to read people for a living. I read all their destinies, Angel's, Cordy's, Wesley's everyone's. They weren't always crystal clear, but I knew that they would all die young and Angel would go in a blaze of glory not long after."

Just as Lorne had always known Lindsey from the first time he played a guitar would never be good for more than a day, or evil for much longer. Lindsey had been too chaotic and too undecided to bring anything but random destruction. The futures that he read always came true… eventually. Lorne cracked a little everyday from the memory of what he'd seen and what he'd done with it.

"You can't alter destiny," Lorne sighed. "That's what fate is. If the tribunal sent us back to change the future by changing the past, either somebody didn't read the fine print on those prophecies or…

"Or what?"

Lorne looked up, his red eyes weary and old.

"Or someone with more power than I care to think about just spun the wheel of fate off its axis and we're floating in no mans land." Lorne took a very long drink. "Doesn't bear thinking about."

"Why not? What does that mean?" Xander asked, annoyed and feeling like his head was a spinning balloon more Lorne talked.

"It means sweet pea that if there is such a thing as fate then any change we try to make has already been done, by us, and we were here in the past before… Well you get what I'm saying. If fate doesn't exist than those prophecies about Angel, and your slayer, and our boy Connor couldn't have predicted their favorite sandwich much less their births and deaths. The only way we could change the past and still have fate in play… well, what you're talking about is an act of god."

"Met a few of those, didn't like 'em."

"They're not much for benevolence that's for sure. Whatever has happened here we are in way, way over our heads. The tribunal would have had to temporarily suspend destiny, effectively putting all those prophecies on the shelf while we muck around here, but if we do change the future then those prophecies aren't suspended, their voided. Then the very laws of our universe could be thrown out of balance. Think of it like throwing a spoke into some grinding cogs. Like the tribunal warned, if we mess things up here the future will be forfeit."

"So we're talking end of the world kind of forfeit." Xander mimed a big explosion with his hands.

"More or less. If we create a paradox…" Lorne shook his head. "I don't know enough about the big magics to explain it. What I do know is that those who have tried to mess with fate and time…" Lorne shuddered. "Let's just say, if I was religious I'd be praying for those poor souls."

"Lorne we _are_ the poor souls messing with fate and time, and we didn't exactly get a choice." Xander hissed.

"And I'm drinking instead of praying." Lorne replied. "We are the proverbial sacrificial lambs my friend"

"Bartender!" Xander yelled, and when Willie came over he said "We're gonna need a lot more beer."

When Willie returned with two more pitchers Xander told him to start them on a tab.

"Damn, Doc Brown wasn't kidding when he said the universe could explode." Xander rubbed his newly aching forehead.

"So let me get this straight." Xander said. "Either destiny with the big 'D' is working fine and we can't do anything but twiddle our thumbs, or fate has been postponed by the almighty power of the three turnip heads," Xander said, thinking of the wrinkled faces of the tribunal. "And we _can_ change the future but…if we do it will could create a paradox and destroy the world?"

Xander leaned back on his stool.

"And here I was hoping all we'd need was some luck, mirrors and Matt Craven to get us out of this." he said, now very confused and not sure if it was because of Lorne's talk of destiny or because he was thoroughly drunk. Or both.

Lorne felt like the worst kind of garbage that ever called itself a guide as he waited for the hope to dwindle and fade from his friend's eyes. This was the part he had always hated, giving bad news, but he couldn't in good conscience let Xander plunge ahead with changing his future without knowing the consequences. He had always given his customers the pros and the cons of every situation, insistent that they make their own decisions in the end, but the pros where so few in this case. Why save the world for ten years only to destroy it yourself.

The empath laid a green hand on his friends shoulder.

"Nothing is absolute my friend," Lorne said. "Destroying the world isn't a given of course. It's only a strong possibility. We are like men watching Schrödinger's cat. We could change the future for the better, or we could cause the end of the world and we wouldn't know either way until it was too late. Is it worth the risk?"

There was a long pause while both demon and man stared around the seedy little bar that shouldn't exist. Xander looked around the demons, the humans, listened to a vampire calling shots at the football game playing over the bar. Could he destroy the world if what he thought he was doing was for the best? Had he become the kind of man who could make and live with that kind of decision? Had he become so jaded he couldn't put the many before the few anymore? As Lorne asked, was it worth it to save his friends knowing what he might do if he did.

"Yeah… it is." Xander finally whispered and turned back to Lorne with a long hard look. "We should try anyway. Even knowing it could end the world, I want to do something rather than just hope for the best. I can't sit back and watch the same bullshit happen all over again, Buffy losing over and over, Tara and Anya dying and…." Xander petered off, then took a deep breath and plowed on.

"Maybe that makes me a lesser man than I used to be. But you know, I never could answer that damn question about whether you'd kill a baby to save the world or not. The crazy men in red sent us here to do something. They gave us a damn mission, what with the mystical knightly dubbing and all. So that's gotta mean they put up some mystical safe-guards against an imploding universe."

"It's a big risk Xander" Lorne whispered. "Bigger than we can conceive of,"

"I know it's a risk, I get the picture, big boom… So we'd better make sure we don't upset their big important balance then." Xander said his one eye never leaving Lorne's, daring him to say no. Lorne looked away, sighed and clinked his glass with Xander's bottle in a sad toast.

"Alright I'm in," the demon accented, "but in a purely advisory fashion you understand."

Xander chuckled into his beer, the affable, roguish joker beginning to make his first re-appearance in three years.

"Look at us," Xander laughed "Who'd have ever thought the fate of the world would be on _our_ shoulders. A couple of old boozers and a possible psychotic."

Lorne groaned at the thought of their third companion.

"Ugh. Is he still…"

"I don't know," Xander shrugged. "He looks a lot better then the last time I saw him, but the last time I saw him he was clawing at walls and screaming about hell. When Heroes go Down eh?"

"I didn't peg you for a Suzana Vega fan." Lorne said with a smile for his favorite pirate.

"I've been surrounded by super powered women for years, you learn to like their music, or else."

* * *

Down below, in the sewers, with his ear pressed against the foundations of Willies bar Angel was listening. He'd followed the two strangers that'd lurking outside Sunnydale high. Not that he himself had been lurking. No he'd simply been standing in the shadows of the barber shop waiting for the kids to come out, hoping he could catch a glimpse of the golden haired Slayer. That certainly wasn't lurking… It was precautionary watching. A lot of bad characters in this town wanted her dead, not surprising really. He found that he could head a number of them off by tailing her. Watching her laugh, and smile, and the sun glint off her hair was just… well, a nice perk. God she was beautiful. He'd do anything to protect her, as much as she would let him anyway.

So Angel frowned and leaned further into the wall of the sewer listening harder for the sounds filtering down from Willie's. The bar was loud and full bawling demons shrieking for blood and beer, it was difficult to make anything out of the conversation. He could pick up the voices of the two strangers he'd followed but more then half their words were run over by the general hubbub, and indecipherable. If Willie's wasn't so full he wouldn't need to be down here, trying to piece together their words. But the Slayer wasn't the only one this town was unhappy to see. Angel didn't dare risk stepping into Willie's yet, certainly not when it was packed wall to wall.

He grimaced and pushed himself away from the clammy bricks. It was too garbled, he couldn't get anymore. Someone above had started shrieking about stolen toe-nails. Probably a Gundoo demon, they loved to snack on keratin protein. But what he had heard, however small, was worrisome. "Destiny, destroying the world, and Buffy," were not words he ever wished to hear in the same conversation. These strangers, whoever they were, were bad knews. He had to warn the slayer.

Angel sunk his hand in his pockets and hurried away down the tunnel.

* * *

The front door of Willie's flew open just as Angel slipped away into the deeper sewers. A few demons near the back looked up from the drinks. The rest ignored the disturbance until the slim figure outlined in the doorway pushed into the bar, and the soft beer lights landed on his young, sneering face.

Connor let the door slam shut behind him and stalked into the shadowy bar like an angry cat. A wake of growls and leers grew behind him as he entered, the bigger and nastier demons licking their chops at the sweet piece of meat that had just ambled into their hands. Connor, single minded and filled with only one dark purposed (get drunk and get drunk now), didn't notice the demons rising behind him with smug, hungry looks. He marched up to the nearest stool, threw his back pack on the bar and leaned against it with a world weary slouch.

"Get me some vodka," he ordered Willie. Willie winced and looked over at the demons smirking behind the lanky new comer.

"Uh, sure, kid, I'll uh, I'll need to see some ID," Willie stuttered a little. Connor lunged forward, grabbed the Willie by the collar and hauled him up over the bar until his feet were kicking in the air behind him.

"Do you want to know what kind of a day I've had?" Connor threatened with a snarl. He shook the small, trembling man, inhaling the sudden scent of fear.

"No, no!" Willie squeaked, shaking his head vehemently.

"Then pour me the damn vodka." Connor growled and tossed the little bartender back into the line of beer taps. Willie crashed into the wall behind the bar, slid down and slowly picked himself up; rubbing his back where the tap handles had hit his spine.

"Sure, uh, no problem kid." He muttered with a petulant glower. Whispers, and approving rumbles rippled through the talk behind them, and the standing demons sat back down. Not sure that the scrawny, bite sized human was going to be an easy snack anymore. Others simply grinned maliciously at seeing Willie pushed around by his customers again.

Willie slid a glass and bottle of vodka across the bar and scurried away. Connor was taking his first sip when a hand clapped him on the back and Xander's far too cheerful voice (in his opinion) came to his ear.

"Connor! You made it, how'd ya know where to find us?" The carpenter slurred and slid into the stool next Connor, leaning a little too far into his shoulder in his drunken clumsy. Connor turned his head and regarded his one-eyed friend with a look that clearly said his wished to put an axe in his skull.

"When I'm through getting pissed, you are a dead man Harris," Connor hissed. Xander puffed out some air and waved the comment away. Just before Connor could make good on his threat Lorne sauntered over, or swayed as was more accurate. The two had had more than their fare share by the time School got out for Connor.

"Now, now, fellas let's not…" Lorne began to mumble his way through a peace making before Connor cut him off, still focused solely on Xander.

"You left me there, in that Hell hole. I had to sit through three lectures on drug abuse and take it!"

"Well you'd better get used to it, cause you're going back tomorrow." Xander slapped his shoulder again happily. Connor slowly his seat around, and a couple of the more sensitive demons got up from bar and moved across the room, sensing an imminent pre-kill vibe off the young man.

"Excuse me?"

Xander smiled in drunken oblivion.

"Yep, glad I'm not the one who has to deal with ol' Snider. The man is menace."

Lorne winced and tried to interpose himself between the two humans before things got bloody, since Xander seemed intent on driving Connor to kill again.

"Eh, what Xander means is," Lorne began,

"Were gonna save the world!" Xander shouted and held his beer high, beginning an old Sunnydale high football cheer. If he missed anything about the Sunnydale days, and there was very little, it was the cheerleading squad.

"What?" Connor cried and leaned back, thrown out of his threatening stance by the sheer absurdity of Xander's cheering.

"Well, Xander here has a theory," Lorne began, slurring a little, to explain a chopped up version of their talk that afternoon and how Xander felt the need to change the future. This was complicated by standing between Connor and Xander's stool's and illustrating with one hand to Connor while trying to keep Xander turned away and singing with the other. Though the Carpenter did occasional make it around and spout a random comment. Finally Lorne was left rubbing his horns, while Connor took it all in. Connor was less then understanding.

"That's insane."

"I know," Lorne said through his mounting headache. Connor glared over the Pylean's blue suit at Xander and demanded

"So why do I have to go back to that Sluk pit?"

"We need ya to make nice with the local kiddies." Xander replied with grin and fumbled with his bottle, which dropped and rolled away on the floor. "Ah, damn," he muttered, and quickly hollered for another.

"eh, what Xander means," Lorne tried again, shifting so he could still stand between the two when Xander bent over the bar and Connor looked like he would love to follow and make sure the carpenter could never walk again. "Is that, if this is going to work we need someone to keep an eye on the school, and make some connection with the Slayer, and no offence honey but out of the three of us you're the only one who passes for sixteen."

"I do not look like sixteen!" Connor growled and tackled Xander over the bar. Demon's all around Willies roared approval as the two slid down the bar, rolled to the floor and a full fledged brawl began. Lorne sighed and sat back on a stool nursing his head and the forgotten bottle of vodka while chairs and fists flew around him.

"I miss the future already." He groaned.


End file.
